


Exceptions

by cajynn



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol, Character Study, Confessions, Getting Together, M/M, of sorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:42:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26982340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cajynn/pseuds/cajynn
Summary: "He supposes he shouldn’t be so surprised. Atsumu has always been the exception to every rule he’s had. Suddenly everything clicks into place. He spends a few more futile moments trying to snuff out the flame that’s begun to grow before resigning himself to falling in love with Miya Atsumu."
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 24
Kudos: 219





	Exceptions

**Author's Note:**

> This fic pushed me out of my comfort zone and challenged me to write something entirely new. I'm very proud of how it turned out and I hope you like too <3

Motivation is fleeting and fickle. Kiyoomi chooses to rely on discipline to keep him going on days where motivation leaves him. Discipline wrenches him out of bed to go on his morning run, to complete his assignments, to go to practice. Half-hearted is not in his vocabulary. Even on his most grueling days, the satisfaction of a job well done makes everything worth it.

It’s how he graduated university top of his class. It’s why he stuck to his workout routine even when he wasn’t on the court. It’s why now, he slams down every single one of Atsumu’s sets with every ounce of effort he can muster.

“Jeez, Omi-kun. Those wrists of yers are freaky.”

Those words send a thrill through Kiyoomi. As a child he reveled in the “ew’s” and “gross’s” his hypermobility earned. Atsumu says it like an insult, and yet Kiyoomi knows that’s not how he means it. There’s something different in the tone of Atsumu’s voice, something almost reverent. It scares him. Still, Kiyoomi can’t help the smug smirk that forms.

Kiyoomi is no stranger to people depending on him. He’s played volleyball for as long as he can remember and had more group projects than he could count in university. But no one has ever demanded a performance from him in the way Atsumu does. Kiyoomi, while careful to never overexert himself, gives his all during practice and their matches. He knows when the ache in his muscles tells him he’s making progress or that he’s gone too far.

Atsumu makes him feel like it’s not enough. He tosses a little higher and moves a little faster. He’s a challenge demanding to be met. And Kiyoomi rises to meet him. 

They group up for an inter team scrimmage, Kiyoomi’s favorite part of practice. He squares his shoulders and takes his position on the court. Errors hold little consequence in this match, but Kiyoomi plans on showing just how far he’s come.

He’s up first to serve. The weight of the ball in his hand grounds him. The sound of the whistle primes him for action. He takes two deep breaths before tossing the ball in the air and striking it into the opponent's court. He watches as his teammates turned rivals scramble to pick up his serve, but it’s no use. Not a single one of them can touch it before it crashes to the floor. 

Bokuto manages to connect with his seconds serve but it flies out of bounds, earning them their second point. Kiyoomi’s palm tingles and he flexes his hand. His streak breaks on the third serve. He breathes in deep and surveys the other side of the net. He stays light on his feet, body primed and ready, waiting for the spike. He dives for it when Bokuto tries to slam it into their court and sends the ball flying high towards Atsumu, flashing a toothy grin as he watches it soar. 

“Shouyou!” he calls.

Kiyoomi’s heart pounds as he watches Hinata slam the ball onto the other side of the court.

The match comes to a close when Atsumu scores the winning point with a setter dump. Hinata jumps him in excitement, and even Kiyoomi can’t help the small smile and firm nod he gives Atsumu. 

A fire burns in Atsumu. Kiyoomi can sense it. It’s the same fire that burns in him, that drives him to score one point after another. 

On their way to the locker room, Atsumu claps Kiyoomi on the back, hand lingering longer than usual. The warmth of his palm seeps through his jersey. He doesn’t flinch. 

“Nice job today, Omi-kun. Yer spikes are terrifying as always.”

Kiyoomi smiles. He doesn’t know when he began craving Atsumu’s praise. Validation from others has never been something he cared much for. He has his own standards to live up to. But Atsumu is different. 

Boktuo comes up next, swinging an arm around his shoulder and bringing him in close.

“You sure showed us no mercy out there! I’m glad you’ll be on the same side of the net at the next match.”

Kiyoomi grimaces, trying to weasel his way out of Bokuto’s grasp. 

“Thank you.”

“Oh! We should go out tonight since we have a day off tomorrow!” 

The rest of the team immediately begins chattering and making plans with Bokuto. Kiyoomi keeps walking towards the showers. It takes him ten minutes to finish washing up before he puts on his clothes and walks out of the gym.

He hears footsteps rapidly approaching before he feels a hand on his shoulder.

“Omi-kun.”

Kiyoomi raises an eyebrow, waiting for Atsumu to continue.

“You should come with us. It’ll be fun!”

Kiyoomi remembers the last event he went to that involved alcohol and his teammates. Bokuto and Hinata ended up singing on top of a table and Meian left a fifty percent tip by way of apology.

“No thanks.” 

“Oh c’mon! I know they can be a bit much. I know _I_ can be a bit much.” Atsumu chuckles softly. “But we really do like hangin’ out with ya.”

The corner of Kiyoomi’s lips twitch underneath his mask.

“Okay. The usual izakaya at eight, right?”

Atsumu’s eyes widen a fraction before he nods frantically. “Yeah! See ya there!”

Atsumu takes off in the other direction with a skip in his step.

  


* * *

  


When Kiyoomi enters the izakaya, he spots his teammates nestled in a corner table, far away from the other patrons. Atsumu waves him over, a faint flush already blooming on his cheeks. Kiyoomi smiles under his mask. He settles next to him, knees barely brushing. 

Kiyoomi goes to flag down a waiter but Atsumu speaks up.

“Oh I already ordered fer ya. Limoncello, right?”

Kiyoomi’s eyes widen. “Yeah, that’s right.”

Kiyoomi picks at the yakitori they ordered for the table. He had an early dinner that evening, not wanting to spend too much that night. When his drink arrives, he drinks it perhaps a bit too eagerly. A pleasant warmth buzzes through his bones, and he begins to relax.

“Are you ready for our match on Friday, Sakusa-kun?” Bokuto asks, smacking him on the back.

Kiyoomi shakes him off, but doesn’t lose his smile. “Of course I am.”

“Course he is!” Atsumu chimes in, bumping their shoulders together. “Ya saw him during that scrimmage. With me settin’ to him we’re gonna win this thing fer sure.”

Atsumu smiles at him, toothy and genuine, and Kiyoomi’s heart flips. The flush on Atsumu’s face has deepened, his hair is slightly ruffled, and somehow one of the buttons on his shirt has come undone. Has Atsumu always looked this good?

Kiyoomi downs the rest of his drink, hoping to blame his flush on the alcohol. When the waiter stops by he orders another.

As the night goes on, Kiyoomi presses closer into Atsumu. Their thighs touch, and Kiyoomi giggles into Atsumu’s shoulder as he recounts the story of how he and Osamu swapped places for an entire week in class before their teacher noticed.

“Never thought I’d hear you laugh, Omi-Omi.”

Kiyoomi looks up at Atsumu. His lips shine invitingly. Kiyoomi’s tongue darts out to wet his own, momentarily forgetting about their other teammates. He’s dragged away by Bokuto’s arm around his shoulder.

“We should get you to drink more often, Sakusa-kun!”

Kiyoomi’s head spins. He needs to go home.

“I think I should call it a night. I’m getting tired.” He excuses himself from the table, dropping enough money to cover his portion of the bill. 

“Wait! I’ll walk ya to the bus stop.”

Atsumu moves to follow him but Kiyoomi waves his hand. “No need, I’ll be fine. You guys have fun.”

Kiyoomi knows if Atsumu follows him he’ll do something stupid, and he can’t afford to ruin their dynamic right before a match. 

He boards the bus and makes a beeline for the back. Luckily there’s not many passengers at this hour. He tries to clear his head but he’s plagued with images of Atsumu’s flushed face and inviting smile. He can still hear his boisterous laughter above the engine of the bus. There’s nothing he can do to scrub him from his mind. 

He supposes he shouldn’t be so surprised. Atsumu has always been the exception to every rule he’s had. Suddenly everything clicks into place. He spends a few more futile moments trying to snuff out the flame that’s begun to grow before resigning himself to falling in love with Miya Atsumu.

  


* * *

  


Kiyoomi’s alarm goes off the morning of their match against the Adlers and he fumbles around the nightstand for his phone. He sits up, not yet opening his eyes, and takes a deep breath. Then two, then three. He gets out of bed, letting muscle memory guide him through his morning routine. Once he’s washed his face and had a few sips of tea, he begins to feel more normal and works on breakfast. He eats and cleans up quickly before heading out the door and towards the gym. 

Kiyoomi steps onto the court and his heart thrums with anticipation. Excitement pulses through his veins. Kiyoomi’s thankful it’s a home game. Playing on familiar turf always feels like an advantage. By the time warmups finish, he’s itching to play.

Kiyoomi steps on the court and takes his position to serve. The whistle blows, the ball goes up, and he slams it down into the Adler’s court. Hoshiumi picks it up effortlessly. Kiyoomi clicks his tongue. Thankfully, when it gets back in their court, Hinata and Atsumu pick up on his slack, earning them the first point of the match.

Kiyoomi’s second serve is out of bounds, and things don’t get better from there. Ball after ball slips through his fingertips. He watches helplessly as the point margin widens. Atsumu sets to him. Of course he does. Kiyoomi jumps diligently as always. But the Adlers shut Kiyoomi out. He jumps again and again, desperate to score, to make sure Atsumu keeps setting to him, but every time the ball lands miserably at his feet. 

The whistle makes its final blow of the first set. They lose 16-25.

“We’ll get ‘em next set!” Hinata declares, eyes shining with determination.

A strong, familiar hand claps him on the back. “Don’t mind, Omi-kun! Ya can’t win ‘em all.”

Kiyoomi’s jaw clenches and his gut twists. He needs to snap out of this, whatever _this_ is. He’s letting his team down. He’s letting himself down. He’s letting _Atsumu_ down. 

He shakes his head to clear it, nearly smacking his cheeks for good measure. He won’t get anywhere with sulking. When they step back out onto the court, Kiyoomi takes a deep breath and steadies himself. 

The whistle blows. The second set begins. He keeps his eyes trained on the ball, moving to meet it as it flies into their court. His body pulls toward it like a magnet and he connects. For a few hopeful moments, Kiyoomi thinks he can make a comeback. But luck is not on his side.

He nearly runs himself ragged, frustration giving way to desperation as he continues to chase after the ball. Atsumu calls out to him and he comes, always moving faster and jumping higher but it’s never enough. 

“Omi!”

_Please don’t._

“Omi-kun!”

_Not me._

“Omi-Omi!”

_Anyone else, please._

The second loss hurts worse than the first. His palms sting. His thighs ache. His pride crumbles. 

Kiyoomi doesn’t know what force moves his body in the third set. His motivation vanishes yet the game demands he play. It demands he win. 

The whistle blows. His mind frays. From a technical standpoint, Kiyoomi does better. He makes clean receives and breaks through the blockers. But exhaustion seeps into his bones. Each jump is reluctant, every dive made on instinct. He’s more machine than person, playing with rehearsed steps that he couldn’t forget if he tried. But it’s still not enough. The ball flies into their court. Kiyoomi dives for it and watches as it lands right in front of his outstretched fingertips. The whistle blows. They lose the match.

Kiyoomi is no stranger to loss. He knows it’s inevitable. But Atsumu’s words echo through his head.

_“With me settin’ to him we’re gonna win this thing fer sure.”_

He picks himself up off the floor, preparing to shake hands under the net. His teammates offer words of encouragement, but he ignores them all. Atsumu says nothing. Kiyoomi isn’t sure if he’s disappointed or relieved. 

In the shower he scrubs himself until his skin turns pink, trying to wash away every mistake he made. When he finishes changing he slams his locker shut with more force than he intended. He ignores the stares of his concerned teammates, walking out of the locker room. The last thing he needs is their pity.

He only gets a block away from the gym before he hears a voice call out.

“Omi!”

Kiyoomi’s shoulders tense, but he doesn’t stop walking. He should’ve known that wouldn’t deter Atsumu. Hardly anything does. He cuts Kiyoomi off, stopping in front of him.

“Move, Miya.” He doesn’t want to deal with this. Not here, not now. 

“Not until ya tell me what’s got ya all bent out of shape.”

“We lost the match, aren’t I allowed to be upset?” 

He tries to move around Atsumu but Atsumu moves to meet him.

“Well yeah, sure. We all are. But we’ve lost before, and you’ve never been like… _this_ ,” Atsumu says, gesturing vaguely.

Kiyoomi sneers. “Like what?”

“Like ya think we hate ya now or ya let us down! Because--”

“Because I did!” 

Kiyoomi slaps his hand over his mouth. Atsumu stares back at him wide eyed, mouth slightly ajar. Kiyoomi pushes past him successfully this time. _Don’t follow me, don’t follow me, don’t follow me._ But Atsumu has never done anything Kiyoomi’s asked of him. Atsumu grabs his wrist, grip loose enough that Kiyoomi could easily pull away. He doesn’t.

“Ya didn’t let anyone down, Omi. We all made mistakes that Coach is gonna chew us out for tomorrow, but I saw ya in that final set. Why d’ya think I kept tossin’ to ya?”

Kiyoomi doesn’t respond. He has no idea. He hoped he wouldn’t, that he’d choose Bokuto or Hinata or even go with another dump instead. But the ball kept coming to him.

“‘Cause ya kept jumpin’ for me.”

Kiyoomi turns to meet Atsumu’s gaze, heart pounding in his chest. He’s met with a gentle smile, one that’s strange and new but not unwelcome. He glances around and, noticing that the street is completely empty, takes a risk.

He pulls down his mask and presses a soft kiss to Atsumu’s lips. He lingers when Atsumu doesn’t immediately pull away. Warmth seeps into his chest when Atsumu brings his hand up to cup his cheek, deepening the kiss. When they pull apart, they’re both a little flushed and breathless. The match becomes a distant memory.

“Feelin’ better?” 

Yeah, Kiyoomi thinks. He is. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to hear your thoughts on this one! 
> 
> Come say hi on [twitter](https://twitter.com/cajynn/)!


End file.
